


Of Parchment and Promises

by jeeno2



Series: Arya x Gendry Week [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AryaxGendry Week, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Queen Daenerys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya understood him so well in most things.  But having always had what Gendry so desperately wants, she couldn't understand this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Parchment and Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 4 of Arya x Gendry Week. Prompt: "Dreams." Pure fluff. 
> 
> (I accidentally posted an early, draft version of this drabble a few hours ago. When I tried to fix it the AO3 formatting went insane, so I deleted. Apologies if the re-post spammed your inboxes.)

Arya and baby Eddard were still soundly asleep in their featherbed, snuggled up together beneath the warm woolen bedsheets, when the raven came.

Gendry ran a hand over his face and rubbed his bleary eyes.  A quick glance out the window told him dawn had not yet broken.  The sun's weak rays were struggling to rise above the horizon and the winter sky was bleak and cold.

He got out of bed -- carefully, so as not to wake his wife or child -- and pulled on his tunic and underthings.  He shuffled as quietly as he could to the window where the raven stood, waiting.  The ugly bird squawked impatiently at him as he clumsily untied the parchment from its leg, his fingers still stiff with sleep.

The parchment bore the unmistakable three-dragon seal of House Targaryen. 

Gendry put his hand upon the window ledge to steady himself so he would not fall to the floor.

* * *

 

When Gendry wrote to the Queen several moons ago to ask for this, Arya told him it was unnecessary. "I don't care about your name," she'd said, even as he was putting ink to parchment. "You're my husband.  And I'm your wife."  She pointed to her belly -- round and swollen with the late stages of her pregnancy.  "You're the father of my child."

"I need this," he'd said, not looking at her, as he continued to write.

"No, you stupid bull," Arya insisted.  She kicked his chair.  "You _don't_."

Arya understood him so well in most things.   Better than he even understood himself much of the time.  But having always had what Gendry so desperately wants, she couldn't understand this.  Not truly.

Arya had known plenty of hardship and horrors in her life, to be sure.  More so, perhaps, than anyone else still alive.  But Arya had never been an orphan in Flea Bottom.  No one ever called her the child of a whore, nor told her she wasn’t good enough for fit company because she lacked a surname.

And as far as Gendry knew, Arya did not hate herself every minute of every day, doubting she was worthy of the person she loved.

With shaking hands Gendry unrolled the stiff parchment, not allowing himself to believe that he now had what he’d dreamed of having for so long.

But he did.  No matter that the Queen still referred to his murdered father as The Usurper in her small council meetings – Gendry's official request for legitimacy had been granted.  "As grateful repayment for your dutiful service to the crown and to House Targaryen during the War beyond the Wall," it said.   In exchange, of course, for a promise that he would never seek to claim his birthright by retaking the Iron Throne.

The Queen's condition made Gendry laugh out loud.  He would write the Queen at daybreak and promise her his place would forever be here, at Winterfell.  And only at Winterfell.  At his wife’s side.

Gendry read the Queen's short letter through three times to make absolutely certain it was real.  He clutched it in his hands – wrinkling it slightly – and closed his eyes.

* * *

 

At length, and with unbidden tears pricking the corners of his eyes, Gendry Baratheon finally climbed back into bed with his little family.  He pulled his sleeping wife close, the Queen's letter still in his hand.  He breathed her in and gently kissed the top of her sleep-tousled head.

Arya stirred a little in sleep and burrowed more closely into his chest.  She sighed in sleepy contentment but did not wake.

Gendry knew that Arya would take one look at the letter in the morning and roll her eyes at him.  Tell him it changed nothing.  For all he knew she’d use it for kindling to light the morning cooking fire.   

Either way, he didn’t care.

As the sun slowly rose above the horizon Gendry eventually drifted off to sleep, knowing that nothing he dreamt of while sleeping could match the joy he felt in this moment.

 


End file.
